


Turn That Fear Into a Souvenir

by Spoonzi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Stiles, Crossdressing, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Minor Character Death, Morally Ambiguous Chris Argent, Morally Ambiguous Peter Hale, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, OC Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Permanent Injury, Polyamory, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Stetopher Week, Stetopher Week 2019, Torture, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-02 02:10:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21153860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoonzi/pseuds/Spoonzi
Summary: Day 2 of Stetopher Week 2019. Prompt: Kidnapping.Stiles is missing less than an hour and Peter Hale, of all people, is the first to notice.THIS STORY IS ON HIATUS





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> \- Copyrights in End Notes of every chapter
> 
> \- Bodily Torture is mainly in Part II and it is the main theme of that part so if you can’t stomach it this story may not be for you. 
> 
> \- Title from: Can’t Go To Hell by Sin Shake Sin
> 
> \- This was for day 2 of Stetopher week 2019 under the prompt ‘Kidnapping’ and instead of it being a tiny little one shot it became a monster. 
> 
> \- Stiles’ birthday is in March in Teen Wolf but for all purposes of this story his birthday is in the fall.

**Part I**

The fact of the matter is that of all the members of the Hale-McCall pack, Stiles Stilinski is the person you have to worry about the least. You’d think with him being the resident ‘weak human with only a minor amount of magical power and a mouth too big for his own good’ he’d be the easiest target. He’s lucky enough most times that because he’s only human, not a special hunter like Allison or a kickass banshee like Lydia, he isn’t seen as important enough to target. 

Stiles is missing less than an hour and Peter Hale, of all people, is the first to notice. The two alphas are too stuck up their own asses over their relationships and the upcoming full moon to even notice and frankly it makes Peter more than a little angry which is surprising because he and Stilinski don’t like each other on a good day. He stays quiet about it though, hopes that the younger male is just at home skipping the pack meet because he’s stacked with his coursework for his second semester at his online college. 

That turns out to not be the case because of-fucking-course something has to happen, it’s been a slow month for supernatural issues after all. The pack comes filtering out of the loft to grab lunch somewhere when all eyes catch on the powder blue Jeep sitting in the far corner of the lot that the drivers side door has been ripped off of. The stench of fear permeates the air and fills Peter’s lungs like a noxious gas, choking him up and making it slightly hard to breathe. He stills and he forces his face to remain a calm indifference as he distantly hears one of his alphas calling Papa Stilinksi. 

•••

It’s a week after Stiles first goes missing and Peter can’t even think of him as Stilinski Jr anymore. He’s searched what feels like the whole town and all its neighboring towns trying to pick up just a glimpse of the boy’s scent. It seems almost impossible where Peter used to find traces of that familiar scent all over town, now he can’t find the scent anywhere but the Jeep and the younger man’s room. 

He misses the cynicism, sarcasm, witty remarks, and pop culture references more than he should and he hates it. He can’t think straight because a member of the pack is missing and it seems like no one else in the pack is doing anything to try and find him bar Derek who seems to be going almost as crazy as him and Lydia who has been coming back from Berkeley on the weekends. It’s infuriating. He hadn’t even liked the kid. 

•••

By week three people are sending Sheriff Stilinski their condolences and it makes Peter want to level a building in blind rage. It’s as if he and the Sheriff are the only ones that remember how strong and how fucking  _ stubborn _ the kid is. Most of the pack walks around halftimes solemn and halftimes like they could care less, as if Stiles is already dead.... as if he didn’t matter in the first place. 

Peter has been through all of his books, the Argent’s books, and Stiles’ books a little over twice now. He’s set on the fact that at this point the only people left to look for Stiles are himself and the sheriff’s department. He sits in the corner of his nephew’s loft at he and Stiles’ research table thumbing through the old, thick, yellow pages of a bestiary from the good doctor Deaton, head down and only listening to the pack with half an ear. His fingers trace over a mindfulness rune the young man had carved into the table absentmindedly. 

“How  _ dare _ you!” Comes a loud, angered voice drawing him from where he’d been skimming over a passage about different types of witches. Chris Argent is glaring fiercely at the two alphas of the Beacon Hills Pack, shoulders tensed and the sent of rage dripping from him like a waterfall. He looks at Scott his nose crinkling and his top lip pulling back in a half snarl half sneer. “Especially you! You call yourself his best friend his  _ brother _ even and you didn’t spend more than two days looking for him! He’s been gone a few weeks and you just decide he isn’t strong enough to live?! Guess what! You would have felt it if he died all of you would have, so who are you fooling?!”

Peter watches as the man slinks out of the loft with a purpose and he realizes that he and the Sheriff aren’t alone. He prods at Stiles’ pack link taking solace in the fact that he  _ can _ feel life still thrumming from Stiles’ end. The link can’t help them find the younger man, but it helps that he knows the boy is alive. Collecting his most important books and his laptop, Peter follows after the hunter at a respectable pace. 

•••

Sometimes the pack link to Stiles goes unbearably weak as if he’s about to die or break his ties to the back. Peter notices this a lot more now that he’s checking the link almost on autopilot while he and Chris research, attempt to track, and contact all of their contacts. It’s a month and a half after Stiles first goes missing that his link abruptly goes impossibly thin and quiet. 

It’s never gone so low. Never felt so close to breaking. The shock of it breaks a sob from Peter’s throat unwillingly the grimoire in his hands tumbling down onto the floor uselessly as he curls in on himself on Chris Argent’s sofa. He sobs Stiles’ name brokenly and searches for the line that connects them only to find a thin, barely hanging on thread of a pack link that is pulled taut and straining. 

It hurts and it’s so damn scary because dammit Stiles is just a kid and even if they didn’t get along Peter somewhat liked the little fucker. There are thick strong arms around him and he doesn’t know when the hunter crossed the room to try and anchor him. His claws are embedded in his own forearms and his eyes burn beta blue and it’s hard to breath because it feels like the tiny little string of Stiles’ life is wrapped around his lungs and squeezing. 

Chris shushes him, stroking over his shoulder and his back. His heartbeat is fast but steady and he reeks of worry but he’s a stone pillar of surety at Peter’s side. If it weren’t for the circumstances it would be nice because Peter hasn’t felt this comfortable being this close to someone since his wife died. 

Suddenly, the pack link between Peter and Stiles pulses. It thickens and strengthens and burns like fire. It’s flat out rebellion and a Stiles level of stubbornness. It makes Peter sob in relief clutching Chris’ shirt when he’s able to pull back his claws. “He’s alive. I don’t know how he did it but he’s alive.” He whispers like if he says it louder the earth will figure out Stiles Stilinski has escaped the clutches of death’s morbid scythe and it will come for him. 

Chris’ lips crush into Peter’s and the kiss is erratic and hard but goddamn if it isn’t the best kiss he’s had in a long time. They’re both high on happiness at the knowledge that Stiles is alive that they have more time to find him. That’s okay because even if Peter won’t say it out loud, he’s pretty sure he knows why he and Chris Argent, of all people, are the ones searching for Stiles Stilinski. 

The next time Peter sees his nephew the younger man looks almost sick. He’s pressed up in the corner of his loft with Lydia glued to his side murmuring comforting words. He looks at Peter as soon as he walks in with Chris at his side his eyes wide and worried. “Did you feel it?”

Peter figures it would be a dumb question. Of course he felt it. Everyone should have felt it. Looking around he realizes that no everyone did not feel it. He wonders if Stiles had chosen Derek as his alpha over Scott or if the others didn’t feel it because they just didn’t care anymore. 

•••

By the two month mark it feels like they’ve exhausted all of their resources, and he just  _ knows _ that if he were gone and Stiles was searching the kid would have found him in less than a week. The only lead they have is that whoever took Stiles is most likely a witch due to the too-fast disappearance of his scent. It makes no sense to them though because a witch doesn’t have the amount of strength it takes to rip off and bend a car door with their bare hands. 

They search through the tight ring of towns and small cities around Beacon Hills trying to find just a sliver of a sign or scent as to where the boy could be. Neither man mentions that the Sheriff sometimes smells like whiskey too late in the morning for it to be from the night before. Neither man lets the other fall into thoughts that they’ll never find Stiles. 

The stubborn strong pulse of the pack link between Peter and Stiles is like a beacon of hope among the dark. It had only taken a week for the majority of the pack to stop looking again and he had no doubt that the other wolves weren’t keeping a close eye on Stiles’ pack tie like he was, bar Derek who was making pseudo crime boards on the walls with Lydia in call in hopes of figuring out something to help the search. It didn’t matter to him about the rest of them. He had Chris and he had hope. 

Odd how much you don’t realize what someone means to you until they’re gone. 

•••

Two and a half months go by and they can’t sleep alone. Sometimes one of them cries. Sometimes both of them cry. Sometimes neither of them can. Either way they lay in Chris’ bed wrapped around each other, keeping each other anchored to the earth and to the hope that they’ll find Stiles Stilinksi. 

At two and a half months of not seeing the young man, Peter has no qualms with acknowledging that Stiles Stilinksi is he and Chris Argent’s mate. If anything the simple acknowledgement, the simple act of telling Chris this helps them both keep going. 

•••

Stiles Stilinski had been missing for 94 days when Peter Hale was awakened by his phone ringing. Sheriff Noah Stilinski speaks over the line voice wet and thick. He explains that they had found Stiles. He explains that he’s cleared the entire pack to visit the next day. He asks that Chris and Peter wait until the pack leaves to come. 

Noah Stilinski had looked him right in the eye unflinchingly only a week earlier when he and Chris told the man about Stiles being their mate. He stared at them both for several moments and proceeded to nod. He wasn’t happy that both men were old enough to be Stiles’ fathers but he did tell them, out of all people, he was glad that they were made for his son. 

That is the only reason Peter and Chris heed his words and wait. Waiting is agony but they’ve waited this long already. 


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles POV of the last chapter. This is what happened to him and it has Torture and Bodily harm and more so if you read this I hope you don’t have a week stomach.

**Part II**

Stiles figured something was up when a handsome man only a year or two older than himself approached his car in the lot of Derek’s loft. He rolled his window down halfway when the man stopped in front of it but kept his hand tucked between his seat and center console where his emergency supernatural-grade taser was hidden. Smiling in a way that he hoped seemed real enough he tilts his head up to speak. “What’s up man? Can I help you with something?”

The guy lets out a garbled sort of grunt and and his pupils fluctuate from very small to very large. Stiles thinks for a moment that the guy is going to drop and start seizing but he keeps his fingers loosely gripped around the taser anyway. The car groans as his hand snaps out at lightning speed and grabs the door through the window. Stiles can’t even blink before his door is being peeled away like the lid of a Chef Boyardee can. 

The door skids across the lot flinging sparks about and he really hopes he didn’t park too far away for his wolfy friends to hear him as he fumbles to yank out the taser from between the seat and console. The guy turns back to him and makes a grab at him only for Stiles to kick him in the stomach, surprisingly, sending him stumbling backwards. Stiles is able to flick on the device by the time the man gets back over to him and he lurches forward jamming the sparking tongs into the side of his attacker’s throat. 

His assailant pays little attention to the weapon, ripping it from his hand and slamming it on the ground with a  **crack** . He tries to climb backwards over the console and scramble out the passenger side door only to have the man lurch into the car after him large hands wrapping around his throat. He thrashes. Scratches violently at the man’s hands. Kicks out at his legs and stomach. He fights until his vision is spotty and it’s hard to move and he has no oxygen left. 

•••

When he wakes up, he’s slumped against a concrete wall. Huge metal cuffs and chains cut into his wrists and throat heavy and screwed into the concrete with huge screws and brackets. A girl sits criss-cross in front of him her short hair dyed light pink and curling around her heart shaped face, her huge blue eyes bare into him and he remembers meeting her at the local supermarket a few days ago when he’d been picking up groceries for the week. His voice is soft and soothing but still raspy and harsh from his stint of strangulation when he tries to speak to her. “Marcia? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

She giggles tilting her head at him as she holds her arms up showing she isn’t chained like he is. The man and two others around his age are sitting over the edge of the wall a ways behind her and Stiles realizes they are inside a drained indoor pool. “Dylan would never hurt me, he can’t think for himself anymore anyway.”

Stiles’ eyes flick from her to the three men and back again a few times before he speaks. “Why did you take me, Marcia?”

She laughs again and it echoes around the room like tinkling bells. “I need another boy. I really hate odd numbers, ya know? And you were just so sweet and adorable I thought you’d be perfect.” She leans back on her hands her floral dress sliding down her shoulders slightly. “I always offer first, to take your mentality away without having to torture you into submission. Of course, no one has chosen that before but I’m a nice girl and nice girls always ask for what they want before they take it.”

“ _ Nice girls _ don’t send their zombie boyfriends to kidnap people. I don’t know if you got the memo.” Stiles snipes baring his teeth at her in a Derek-esk snarl. 

“Pity you didn’t take my offer, Stiles.” Marcia sighs standing and dusting off the rose speckled skirt of her dress. “Booker, Jordan, Dylan! We’re going to start easy. Don’t pull your punches, but don’t kill him.”

“You aren’t going to get away with this!” The boy growls as she saunters over to the end of the pool so she can climb the stairs. “My dad is a Sheriff and my best friend is an alpha wolf, they’ll find me!”

“Good thing scent blocking spells are a thing then.” She calls blowing him a kiss as the three men drop into the pool and begin to approach him. He sets his shoulders trying to ignore her laugh as it echoes around the room. 

If there is one thing Stiles knows how to do, it’s take a beating. 

•••

Two of the zombie-like men escort him to the bathroom twice a day even if he can barely walk from the pain in his legs. One always brings him a sandwich and a water every other day when the sun dips below the thin, high-up windows of the abandoned pool house. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s asleep when he finally passes out from the pain and exhaustion but if he counts the sunsets when he’s awake he can guess he’s been here for 20 days or more. His leg is broken and he’s sure a few of his ribs are too. He has to put most of his weight on his left side when they take him to the bathroom because they seem to favor his right. 

All he feels is pain and hunger but he still sneers, snarls, snaps, and talks back to Marcia when she enters the pool. She stands far enough away from him that he can’t reach her even with his good leg. She eats large, delicious smelling meals in front of him every day and tells him how most of his pack stopped looking for him only a few days after she took him. 

It makes his heart clench but he knows that his dad won’t ever stop looking for him and he growls that out to her in the fiercest way he can when his stomach is wailing for food and his bones are creaking only a few more hits from breaking. It makes her laugh. She tells him eventually Noah Stilinski will give up or give in to alcohol poisoning. He thrashes and yanks against his chains trying to get to her. He growls like a dog and gnashes his teeth like a rabid animal. Maybe he’s spent too long around Derek and Erica because he wants to rip her windpipe out with his fucking  _ teeth _ . 

She frowns at him and stands taking her food with her. Before she leaves she kicks out at him the toe of her shoe jamming into his nose with a sickening crunch and a force so hard it sends him falling backwards his head bouncing off the pool wall behind him. His world goes dark and and the thought of drowning in the blood from his own broken nose is the last thing that floats through his head. 

•••

For about five days after Marcia breaks his nose he doesn’t get anything to eat. He still gets water, thankfully, but he has to fight to keep it down when the bottle is being forced between his lips and the contents are rushing into his mouth and throat faster than he can swallow. At what he thinks is 26 or 27 days Marcia comes back in and has two of her zombie boys drag him into a kneeling position and hold back his arms. The pressure on his broken leg makes him want to scream. 

She sits down across from him on her knees and the ruffles of her pastel pink dress fluff around her like a cloud of cotton candy. She drops a shopping bag next to her sets a box on her lap and the logo is the one from the fancy Sushi place where Peter gets lunch on days when they’re stuck at their research table. He remembers stealing pieces as stealthily as possible the first few times before the older Hale had decided just to get a double and set the box between them. It makes Stiles’ eyes sting and his heart clench. He never thought that, of all people, he’d miss Peter Hale. 

“Those two old guys in your pack are still looking for you. It’s kinda sad really. I’m pretty sure they went all the way to Clover Creek yesterday.” The pink haired girl comments as she breaks apart her chopsticks. She doesn’t mean to but she inadvertently lets him know that he’s still close enough to Beacon Hills to start eliminating where he could be in his head. 

If Stiles’ heart beats a little faster when he finds out Peter Hale and Chris Argent are still looking for him, well no one has to know and there are no werewolves around him to point it out. He glares at her defiantly. “I’ll be sure to thank them when I get out of here, then.”

Marcia’s brows quirk up and she finishes chewing the sushi in her mouth before speaking. “You know Jordan and Dylan had given up by now. Props to you but you aren’t getting out of here. I’m going to make you just another one of my bitches.”

She grabs the shopping bag next to her and pulls out a can of wet dog food. Stiles’ stomach lurches and he’s sure if he had anything in it he’d vomit. It’s been over five days, that he knows of, since he’s eaten. He knows what’s about to happen and he knows if he has any hope of making it out of this alive he’s going to have to go through with it. It’s not going to be good or easy but it’s going to be food and food means strength. 

She peels back the lid and drops it into the shopping bag before leaning forward and turning the can upside down in front of him. She shakes it and a long tube of congealed meat and gravy slides out flopping onto the dirty, pool floor in front of him with a gushing  **slap** . If his arms were free he’d strangle her while she’s within his reach. 

Marcia scoots out of his field of reach and plucks her chopsticks from where she had deposited them next to her half eaten sushi roll. “Be a good bitch and eat your supper. You try and use your hands to eat that and I’ll have them broken. Let him go boys.”

If there is one thing Stiles Stilinski knows how to do, it’s how to adapt to a situation just enough to get out of it. 

•••

At 32 sunsets, that he’s been awake for, they escalate. Physical beatings change from punches and kicks to jumper cables being pressed into his already bruised skin until he knows exactly what Erica’s seizures felt like. When Marcia decides that too much electroshock will kill him she has her puppets rip out his fingernails and toenails and she giggles as she douses his wounds in alcohol. 

One time, he passes out after a stint with Dylan and the jumper cables and Marcia supplies that he’d been barely lucid for three days when he becomes aware again. Because of this, Stiles figures that her little marionette trick doesn’t work unless she has some form of consent. He laughs in her face when he tells her and he doesn’t even get dog food to eat for several days. 

The days after that he hates the most because they waterboard him before they move onto the jumper cables and the wetness seems to make the shocks ten times worse somehow. He doesn’t cry. If there is one thing he won’t let himself do when he’s still twitching violently through the aftershocks and surrounded by the scent of urine and burnt flesh, it’s cry. Marcia and her zombie douchebags aren’t worth his tears. 

•••

He can’t tell how long he’s been there anymore by what feels like the hundredth time he blacked out because counting the sunsets doesn’t work if you don’t know how long you were out. The cuts start little and they feel like nothing compared to his broken right side and his electricity burned torso. They start out with long slices of razor thin blades in places that won’t make him bleed out. 

The long cuts over the top side of his arms and thighs are like phantom pains or paper cuts when they press the metal ends of the cables into his sides. When Marcia realizes the little cuts aren’t working in her favor she has the one he thinks is Booker stab him in his already broken leg. He wails when it happens but he has no tears to shed for her only curses and threats as the ridged knife flays and shreds his skin on the way out. 

They cauterize it by amping up the electricity and his body gives out. He collapses and he’s sure that he’s dying but instead he dreams. He dreams that he’s tucked between Chris and Peter at the familiar little research table in Derek’s loft. Peter’s favorite sushi sits among piles of books and gun cleaning supplies is hoarded at the corner of the table where Chris seems to be taking apart a semi-automatic. Stiles is cuddled up in his favorite sweater dress and leggings and he’s leaned against Peter’s side with his feet thrown in Chris’ lap and a textbook is leaned against his thighs. 

Stiles knows it’s a dream because Chris and Peter would never look at him the way they are or touch him the way they are. They look at him with love and adoration and they touch him soft and sweet like he’s treasure. He knows it’s a dream because he’s never worn his ‘girly’ clothes anywhere but his house and Scott’s. He knows it’s a dream because he can’t count his fingers and he can’t read the words in the textbook. He knows it’s a dream because he wakes up in a pool of blood, urine, and vomit still shaking and twitching with Marcia hovering over him. 

He’s pretty sure he’s dying and he really doesn’t want the last thing he sees to be Marcia’s face pinched in rage. His brain isn’t working right and all of him just hurts and it would be so sweet, so easy to just give in and let himself die. When he realized she’s close enough to grab his brain and his heart jolt. He lurches as if he’s going to vomit again and wraps his good hand around her ankle. She screams out in rage and kicks at him with her other foot but he doesn’t care, he just takes. 

He doesn’t know how he does it and he doesn’t know what he’s doing but he takes. White light rushes through his veins shining through his skin much like how the wolves take pain. His bones creak and mend themselves awkwardly in a way that they’ll have to be re-broken and set when he finally gets out of here. Marcia is screaming and goddamn Stiles feels better and stronger than he has since mere days after he was brought here. He can see the small cuts on the back of his arm heal like they’re zipping closed, he can feel his nose shifting up into place, and when he looks soon his torso later he discovers only scars where wounds should be. 

Marcia is ripped from his grip by The Three Fuckiteers and basically dragged out of the pool. Stiles pulls himself up to lean against the wall of the pool. His chains are still heavy around his wrists and throat and there is a dull sort of pain that thrums through his body. It’s the kind of pain that never really goes away but it’s bearable and he’s alive. 

If Stiles Stilinski is anything, he’s too damn stubborn to die. 

•••

After his scrape with death, Marcia is somehow both more careful and more vicious. She must want him to become one of her human gollums a hell of a lot because if he were as batshit crazy as her he would have killed him and moved on already. As she gets angrier her orders to her three slave boys get less clean. They get careless. 

He only has to wait a little over two weeks of sunrises before the mistake they make is detrimental. He’s taken a bit of damage again because it’s been so long. Among the scars on his torso are more shallow cuts and electric burns and his leg is now broken in more than one place though luckily not as bad as the first break. His back is swollen and riddled with lashes and slashes from a crazy whip he thinks she called a Cat O’ Nine Tails. 

Stiles thinks if he were a wolf his anchor would be pain because that’s what has kept him here and moderately sane since he’s been here. Pain is what has kept him anchored and stubborn. It’s what kept him from giving in to Death’s bony clutches or Marcia’s promises of painless, mindless bliss. 

With the few bits of magic he knows it’s easy to drive a hastily discarded knife through Jordan’s neck, to get the chain shackled to his wrist around Booker’s throat, to trip up Dylan and slam his skull against the ground until blood and brain matter paint the floor, his tattered clothes, and his skin. 

Marcia is reckless and stupid when she’s angry just like he had predicted she would be. She doesn’t use magic to attack him. She tries to kill him with the knife he’d embedded in Jordan’s windpipe of all things. It’s easy to get his hands around her throat. All he has to do is just squeeze and take until she stops thrashing and her eyes are glassy like a dolls as they stare endlessly up at him. He doesn’t let go until his newest wounds are just more scars and his body is vibrating with her energy. He doesn’t let go until her body is cold. 

Her phone is unlockable by fingerprint which is lucky.

He remembers his Dad’s number because, if anything, Stiles Stilinski likes to be prepared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting everyone together! This has a good amount of fluff for you guys after those stressing chapters.

The hospital is  _ cold _ and sterile just like always. He doesn’t touch the food even though for the better part of three months he’s been living off of wet dog food, because it’s not life or death anymore and goddamnit he’s got standards. Apparently he won’t be getting his leg re-broken and set like he thought because the only way to fix it is through a few super expensive surgeries. Coupled with the fact that he doesn’t want to spend the money and the fact that the surgeries have a higher chance of going wrong than actually working he decides on the much cheaper option. That being life walking a little wonky with a cane. He figures instead of looking on the bad side, he can get a sword cane and walk around pretending he’s important, because hey silver linings. 

Every news channel within a hundred mile radius is running the story of his miraculous return and all of the gruesome and gory details. Hospitals only ever have news channels, Spanish soap opera channels, and old western channels so really he decides on the lesser of three evils as he switches randomly between news channels and compares the compositions of their stories on him. 

Oddly enough, it’s not his pack that visits him first but State Attorney Whittemore who tells him he won’t be prosecuted for killing his captors but he is required to attend three months of mandatory therapy. Stiles thanks the man even though he doesn’t think he should have to. 

The pack doesn’t come all at once but in small groups. Scott and Melissa get to him first just after he finally convinced his dad to take care of things down at the station. They bring him flowers from the hospital gift shop and they look at him with pity (Melissa) and fear (Scott). 

Lydia, Allison, Danny, and Jackson come next. The girls bear gifts of Reese’s Cups and M&Ms with their own barely contained mixtures of pity and fear. Jackson nods at him with some sort of new respect in his eyes and tells him to heal up so he can kick his ass. Danny just seems relieved to see him alive. Lydia regales him on her adventures of crime-boarding with Derek and he chuckles when she tells him their Alpha’s organization skills are  _ lacking  _ at best. 

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac came an hour or so after the other four leave. Both men look unsure of him as if he’s going to attack them and minute and he can’t bring himself to blame him because what he did was gruesome and definite overkill on at least three of his four torturers. Erica perches carefully on the edge of his hospital bed her hand clutched a little too tight around his own as she talks his ear off. She updates him on town gossip (apparently Allison and Scott got engaged), supernatural happenings (Cornish pixies attacked in swarms twice), and the new issues of comics and episodes of shows he’s missed. She doesn’t stop until Boyd has to physically drag her away. 

Derek steps in mere minutes after the three betas leave and he carefully drags the human into a hug. Stiles clutches the leather of the man’s jacket and tries not to sob too loudly as his alpha whispers to him how proud he is, how it’s going to be okay, and how amazing and strong Stiles is. He holds the human and tells him he wished he would have searched harder. He tells the younger man no matter what he can always come to him for anything. Stiles thinks Derek could be like his older brother but he doesn’t say it out loud. 

When Derek leaves and he’s alone watching news stories with his picture and his name splashed across their big story sections for hours, he wonders if Marcia lied to him. He wonders if Chris and Peter really weren’t searching for him. He wonders if they cared at all. 

He falls asleep to the sound of the channel 5 anchor describing the details his dad has released to the public and he dreams. He dreams that he’s cuddled up between two sleeping men with their arms wrapped around him. He dreams of a bite scar on his left forearm and a ring on his ring finger. He knows it’s a dream because there are no scars on his left arm in real life. He knows it’s a dream because he can’t remember getting married. He knows it’s a dream because Peter Hale would never sleep in a bed with white sheets. He knows it’s a dream because he can’t read the clock over Chris’ shoulder and he can’t count Peter’s fingers where they’re laced through his own. 

When Stiles wakes up Chris and Peter are there, the former relaxed back in his chair with his arm propped up behind the later who seems deep in thought. For a moment he thinks he might still be dreaming only to spot that he can, in fact, read the numbers on his ECG machine. “What’re you thinking so hard about over there, Zombie Wolf?”

Peter’s eyes snap open and train on him in a way that makes him think maybe he really is still dreaming or he’s hallucinating. “Just wondering how the only person worth anything in this damn pack is also the only person who hasn’t taken the bite, bar Allison and Lydia of course.”

“Probably because the only person who ever offered it to me was you and you were batshit crazy at the time. Besides, I’m better than all you moon crazed puppies and I’m human so why would I want the bite?” Stiles huffs a laugh looking away from Peter only to find Chris’ eyes on him as well. He looks away from him too eyes drifting around the room until they get to the rolling table at the side of his bed. A hospital-grade cane, a clipboard of release papers, and his satchel sit on top of it. “Have either of you seen my dad?”

Chris’ baritone chuckle sounds and his eyes draw back to the two older men. “ _ Moon Crazed Puppies _ . Your dad went to the bathroom. He said that your favorite clothes were in the bag if you woke up and those papers are early release papers.”

Stiles nods and drags the satchel into his lap so that he can unbuckle it and look inside. His converse sit between two neatly folded stacks of clothes. The first stack is his favorite red hoodie, an age soft BHPD shirt, and his grey Deadpool joggers. The second stack is an oversized, dark blue sweater dress and a pair of black leggings with grey and white stars fading up from the bottoms. He must have stared too long or made a face because Peter was speaking up again. “Stiles, are you alright?”

“No.” The younger man lets out a short, manic laugh and shakes his head. “I’ve fought against the supernatural since I was sixteen. I’ve been in more near death experiences than I can count. I was kidnapped and tortured for over three months and I killed my captors to get out. I’m a legal adult who turns twenty in two weeks and I have a million things I should be worried about but guess what, my biggest worry is wearing my favorite clothes in front of other people.” He flops back against his stupidly crinkly hospital pillows and scrubs his hands over his face with a groan. “It’s  _ pathetic _ .”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole,” Peter starts and he can almost feel Chris’ eyeroll, “get over it and wear what you want, Sweetheart. I’m sure you’ll look great no matter what.”

“That was kind of sweet, for an asshole.” Stiles says with a firm look in his eyes. That’s how they get exiled to the hallway soon joined by Noah Stilinski who had apparently stopped to talk with Melissa McCall before she went home. They’re barely standing in the hall for ten minutes before the young man is walking out to join them leaning on his cane heavily for support with his satchel draped over his shoulder and the clipboard full of filled out papers grasped in his free hand. 

At the sight of Stiles in a sweater dress and tights, Chris quietly murmurs to Peter. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, darling, you’ll catch flies.”

Peter chuckles, lashing back. “Stop drooling, sweetums, the nurses just mopped.”

“You guys know I can hear you right?” Stiles questions glancing over his shoulder at them as he hands the nurse behind the front desk his clipboard so that his early release papers can be processed. 

“Can you blame us, my dear? I did say you would look rather ravishing in anything you choose to wear.” The wolf flirts shamelessly. 

“I believe you said he’d look great in anything, but I doubt Stiles has a problem with your compliments.” The hunter huffs out a laugh shelving his arm over Peter’s shoulders comfortably. 

“Oh I’m enjoying Creeper Wolf’s sweet talking very much. I can use it as blackmail next week when he hates me again and the relief that I’m alive wears off.” The spark throws out with a yawn as he begins limp-walking away from the counter. Neither Chris or Noah miss the sneaky little smile ghosting across the younger man’s lips, but it seems Peter does because the man flinches slightly under his arm before Stiles continues. “Granted I could be completely wrong and the both of you will accept my invitation to a date tomorrow night.”

“How about Italian?” Chris throws out as they step out into the cool night air and the wolf relaxes once again under his arm. “I make an amazing cheesy ravioli lasagna.”

“I can provide a wonderful wine provided your dear Sheriff won’t arrest us for condoning underage drinking.” Peter’s blue eyes slide over to the man in question. 

Noah lets out a snort. “A glass of wine or two wouldn’t even scratch the surface of all the borderline illegal things my son has done since he learned to walk and talk.”

“I’m right here.” Stiles huffs but he is grinning in a way that doesn’t seem even remotely put off. 

•••

Peter picks up on the sound of Stiles’ Jeep before it even pulls into Chris’ driveway and he’s at the door before Stiles even gets all the way out of his vehicle. The wolf all but hauls the door opened as the younger man steps up into the stoop hand clutching white-knuckle tight on the handle of his cane. Stiles is wearing one of his usual flannel button ups (the green and blue one that Chris has always thought looked good on him) and a simple, black pleated skirt. His right leg is covered in raised white scars that look like they’ve been there for years even though he had only been back for two nights. There is a mole on the side of his left thigh that peeks out from the hem of the skirt and Peter wants to kiss it. 

Stiles raises his brows at Peter as he limps past him into the warm house carefully pushing his flats off of his feet and next to their shoes as well as slowly shedding his black hoodie onto the coat rack. “A little birdie told me that our resident Zombie Wolf paid to have Roscoe fixed. Is that true?”

“You love that car. I thought you wouldn’t want to see it like it was when we found you.” Peter says as he leads the younger man through to the dining room where he pulls out a chair for him. 

“You were right. Roscoe was my mom’s, I love her a lot.” The brown eyed male says carefully lowering himself into the chair and leaning his cane against the table. “Where’s Chris?”

“He’ll be out in a minute.” The wolf replies as he begins to pour wine into the three glasses. First Stiles’, then his own, and finally Chris’. He takes his seat across from the spark because Chris always sits at the head of the table and that will put him between them. “No one is allowed in the kitchen unless they are helping and Chris is a little bit of a bossy perfectionist.”

“I can hear you, you know.” The hunter huffs as he steps in balancing the dish of pasta in one hand and the large bowl of homemade spinach and ricotta salad on the other. 

“You were meant to, dearest.” Peter quips smirking. 

He deposits both dishes on the table where they can all reach them and takes his own seat. “Hello, Stiles. I’m glad to see you got to us safe.”

“Hi Chris, it looks delicious.” Stiles smiles speaking softly and rolling his eyes at their antics. 

“It'll taste better.” Chris promises leaning forward to plate them each a serving of pasta and a side of salad. It did taste good, it tasted goddamn  _ great _ in fact. They spend only a minor amount of dinner talking because for most of it they just enjoy each other’s company and the great food and wine. 

It’s the type of companionship that Stiles had never had before even with Scott who he’s known since fourth grade. They don’t have to get to know each other because they already know the worst parts and they’re all okay with learning the best parts over time. Both men end up making him eat a second plate as well as a slice of the chocolate lava cake from his favorite family-owned bakery, the one down by the library that he is 100% his dad told them about. He can’t complain because after at least two months of gravy dog food he thinks he’ll eat anything someone puts in front of him, bar hospital food of course. 

After dinner, the three of them end up in the living room with their second glass of wine all sitting close together on the sofa that could afford them way more room to space out if they wanted to. They don’t want to. Stiles ends up sideways in Peter’s lap leaned against his chest with his legs hooked over Chris’ lap. They decide to watch the new episode of some mystery/drama that Peter is into and Stiles ends up with a huge tome about different types of witches in his arms that the two older men had supplied was from Deaton because the show isn’t really his thing. 

After getting through a passage about how some witches known casually as Ink Witches use tattoos to amplify their magic, he realizes that the hunter has been staring off into space for a solid few minutes and  _ Full House _ is now on the tv. Peter is paying half attention to the tv and half to the phone he has balanced in one hand so his other arm can stay secured around the Spark’s waist. Chris’ hand is splayed across his lower thigh rubbing over the thick, jagged, raised, white scar above his knee. 

“That’s the one that almost killed me, believe it or not.” Stiles says conversationally because if he can talk to anyone about what he went through, it would have to be Chris and Peter. The green eyed man blinks and focuses on him and he can feel the blue eyed man setting down his phone to give him attention as well. 

Stiles figures ‘What the hell’ and marks his page with the braided leather band attached to the book and sets it down taking a sip of his wine before settling back in. He tells them it happened a little less than two months in if he’s guessing correctly. He can tell Chris recognizes exactly what kind of knife it was and he can tell Peter knows the bite of jumper cables a little too well. He tells them he’s almost positive he suffered a seizure and when he came to he nearly sucked all the life out of Marcia before her boy’s got her away. 

Peter whimpers out that he could feel him almost die because of how he’d been focusing on their pack bond. He tells him that Chris held him through it and he just knew that once they got Stiles back they would do anything to be right where they are now. They both hold the amber eyed boy for a long time whispering that he’s strong and special and beautiful. He’s warm, safe, and he finally feels at home. Really, it’s more than Stiles ever hoped for. 

•••

Not two days later, Stiles figures out what Peter was looking up on his phone that night. A long package is delivered right to his door and it’s the type of thing you have to sign for so he knows it can’t be a fuck up,  _ especially _ since he’s never met another Stiles Stilinski in his life. He opens it on the couch and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

It’s a cane. The head of the cane is silver and has a wolf in the middle that pops up if you turn the head the right way and it’s actually a pull out sword. The base of it is just the right height for him and it’s strong stained black wood that ends in another silver circlet and a padded nub. It’s beautiful and dangerous and Stiles absolutely loves it. 

He’s sure that it’s because Peter didn’t want to have to hear his hospital-grade one  **clicking** and  **clanking** with his sensitive ears or it’s some sort of werewolf thing where Peter wants to provide for him. Hell, it could be a mixture of both. Either way, he’s calling the older man up as soon as his brain starts to work again. 

Peter won’t tell him how expensive it is and he brushes off Stiles’ thank yous like he shouldn’t have to be thanked. Stiles knows it’s expensive as hell though when he gets it out of Peter that the silver is real and it’s been blessed. Chris pipes up from somewhere over the line that Peter had spoken with the maker for hours after Stiles had left selecting the type of wood and stain alone. 

He resolves to bringing his wolf some of the man’s favorite cannolis from the tiny family-owned bakery, Mama Isabella’s, the next day. He lounges on the couch with his feet tucked under Chris’ thigh as they both watch the were lick cream off of his fingers after every pastry passes his lips. The hunter jokes lowly to Stiles about werewolf metabolism even though he knows Peter can hear their quiet banter.

Stiles’ first kiss with Peter tastes like brown sugar and cream filling. It’s warm and comforting and almost chaste if not for the older man slipping his tongue into the Spark’s mouth so that he can taste the cannolis. Chris’ palm is heavy on his hip and Peter uses his hold on the back of Stiles’ neck to bring him into his first kiss with the hunter as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis & MTV   
\- Full House (c) Jeff Franklin (Ch.3)


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late upload. I thought today was yesterday.
> 
> Also, fair warning, there is some talk about Stiles’ time in captivity in the last part of this chapter.

Stiles starts practicing walking without his cane when he’s alone. He knows he won’t be able to go long distances and he knows that he’ll always have a heavy limp and phantom pains, but he also knows what kind of life he leads. He needs to be able to move if someone takes his cane and he needs to be able to fight too. 

So he starts in his room on the nights when his dad has night shift because he’d been spending his days with Chris and Peter since he’d come home. He yanks his pillows and comforters from the bed stacking them in rows around him for padding when he pitches over. He starts limping down his row with a loose grip on his desk chair just to keep his balance. He falls  a lot but he gets back up more. 

He doesn’t cheer the first time he does it without falling and he doesn’t celebrate the second. His mother had always said  “Don’t do it until you get it right, do it until you can’t get it wrong”  and he’s lived by that mantra since he was twelve. So he does it over and over until he can do it twenty times straight without falling. 

He practices every time he’s alone in the house for days until he thinks he has it down. Then he discards the chair completely. He starts again, limping down his road of pillows without a tool for balance. He falls even more than he had with the chair and he’s sure he’s got bruises on his hips and his sides where he’s caught himself on the floor instead of his pillows. 

By his first Pack meeting back he can walk the length of his room thirty times without his cane. It’s shaky at best and it hurts more to walk without the crutch of the cane but he can do it. When he finishes he has to sit for a long time and massage the aches and cramps out of his leg. He can’t stretch it all the way out straight without screaming and the doctor had said he would probably never be able to. 

•••

His first pack meeting since he’d gotten back is held at the old Hale estate because it’s the first Saturday of the month and therefore it’s training day. He arrives with Chris and Peter in the hunter’s SUV because the man had invited him to have homemade crepes with them that morning. Who he comes with garners a few looks from everyone but Lydia who smiles at them and Derek who sidles up next to them and takes notice of Stiles’ Joggers, Wonder Woman tee, and workout shoes. “You training today?”

“Chris is going to teach me how to sword fight.” The spark answers easily nodding to the two thin, wooden swords the grey haired man has propped on his shoulder. 

Derek smiles and shows them the flattest area of the yard where they can practice before asking for Peter to come and spar with him. The four betas and Danny seem to shrug off his arrival pretty fast and Lydia takes Allison’s attention back to where they were practicing hand to hand, but for a long time Scott just stares at Stiles and Chris. Even with the staring, Stiles learns how to hold the sword correctly for different fighting styles and how to both attack and block in a few different ways. 

When they all decide on lunch, the triad splits off to go back to Chris’ house for the sub sandwiches he had stored in the fridge that morning. They eat in the kitchen and drink down at least two water bottles each as they enjoy the heat after fighting in the fridged morning air. 

“My first Therapy session is on Monday.” Stiles comments as he serves himself another of the small sandwiches from the tray. 

“Do you want one of us to go with you, Sweetheart?” Peter questions looking up to him where he’s perched on the counter. 

Stiles shakes his head as he finishes chewing so he can speak. “Nah, my dad wants to take me to the first one. Took night shift so he could. After that we are going to go through the boxes with all my stuff since he had to pack it up.” He takes a sip of his water and at the two older men’s confused faces explains. “I wasn’t here to pay rent on my apartment so it was given to someone else. They gave my dad two days to get everything out so most of it is in these four huge boxes that Parrish lifted for him.”

“So you’ll be living with your father again?” Chris inquires turning so he can rinse his plate before once again leaning against the sink. 

“Until I can find a new place at least. I would have had to find a new place anyway since I can only handle about two flights of stairs and I lived on the fifth floor.” The spark shrugs and pushes his once again empty plate towards the grey haired man. 

“You could always move here. I’ve got enough room and Peter has slowly migrated everything he owns but furniture here in the last couple of months.” The hunter offers with a shrug as he takes the plate as well as the wolf’s. 

Stiles gums and taps his fingers against his water bottle making it crinkle. “Can I think about it? I appreciate the offer but we’ve all only gone on one date and it wasn’t  out  anywhere . ”

“Of course you can think about it, Darling.” Peter settles a hand on the younger man’s good leg. “Speaking of dates out I was thinking the three of us could go to that place on main. I have a standing reservation and all it would take is a quick call.”

“Friday?” Whiskey eyes sparkle in delight. 

“Sounds great. How about we pick you up at seven.” Chris meets the beta’s eyes over Stiles’ shoulder his lips upturned charmingly. They all trade kisses that taste like cold cuts before Stiles heads back home to get cleaned up and Peter twists his nose up when he tastes mustard on the other two’s lips garnering their amusement. 

•••

If there is one thing that Stiles Stilinski hates, its therapists. Therapy is a soft science that can easily be disproved in many places and Therapists are angering in a way no other doctor can even think to reach. Therapists tend to hold the belief that they know everything about everything and even when they don’t try to they have this air of superiority about them that makes his jaw clench. 

He’s not saying that therapy is worthless or that it’s altogether wrong because he really does think that it helps some people. He, however, is  not some people and this whole ordeal is a waste of time in his humble opinion. It’s idiotic and he could be doing literally a thousand other things instead of wasting two hours in a small government building surrounded by people he doesn’t know just to see another person who he doesn’t know who will automatically assume they know everything about him. It’s revolting and if Chris and Peter could see how disgusted he is he isn’t sure if they’d be concerned or amused. 

He’s in ‘masculine’ clothes today because they layer better and it’s absolutely freezing outside for it to only be the start of October. His back is straight as a rod and he has both feet flat on the ground with his cane between them while he rests his hands over top tracing the small wolf with his thumb. It’s a stark difference to his dad who’s seated next to him in the waiting room slouched over with one foot jiggling as he chews on his thumbnail. Both are nervous habits that Stiles picked up but fortunately enough he isn’t even a lick nervous. 

His dad had asked him twice since they’d gotten there and three times in the car if Stiles is sure he’s okay with both of them going in. Every time the answer has been a variation of he couldn’t care less if he tried. They’d go in and sit through an hour of mundane questions as per usual of first appointments and then they’d be home free. Simple. Easy. Boring. 

Not!

The therapist is a shrewd looking young woman who is quite possibly only a few years older than Stiles. She’s got severe grey eyes and stark black hair that is pulled back so tight into a bun it may as well be pulling the skin of her face back too. She’s obviously a state paid therapist who thinks she’s too good for the job she’s got and she didn’t want to be consulting with Stiles in the first place but a name like Whittemore and even Stilinski gets thrown around with power in a forest town like this. 

She smiles as she introduces herself and it’s so tight her lips thin to barely nothing. Maybe she thinks she’s being welcoming but the way she moves is stiff and she tries to make her frame taller than it is almost like intimidation. He doesn’t bother to remember her name. He takes the same stance in the chair across from her desk as he did in the waiting lounge and she eyes it like a wary challenge as she takes her own seat. “So, Mister Stilinski-”

“Stiles.” He interrupts promptly and gets his desired reaction as her eye twitches and her shoulders square out. She’s obviously used to getting what she wants because it’s a reaction barely even close to the fear awakening one Lydia poses when she wants something. 

“Stiles.” She amends her slate colored eyes moving between him and his dad briefly. “I’ve been told that you’ve come to me because of a recent event in which you may have garnered some trauma. I’m here to tell you that is alright and you can talk to me about it.”

Stiles hums. He tilts his head. He sucks on the corner of his lip and he  eyes her for a long moment. “What makes you think I’m suffering from trauma?”

He can tell his dad wants to say something but the older man had promised to be completely silent unless addressed directly. The woman’s lips pull down and she glances towards the top drawer of her desk. He’s guessing his file is there. “Well I’d assume what you’ve been through must have been traumatic.”

“You  assume.  Do you know what an assumption is? It’s a guess. So, what makes you  guess that I am traumatized? Hm?” He asks keeping his eyes glued to hers in a hard and steady stare. “Go on. I really do want to know. This isn’t a rhetorical question.”

She remains silent and her mouth opens and closes a few times much like a goldfish. Idly he wonders if her attention span is as short as one as he cocks an eyebrow at her. Finally she settles. “Well Mister- Stiles you have been through a traumatic experience. You were taken from somewhere you thought you were safe and you were hurt by people you didn’t know. It’s only natural that you would need to talk about it.”

Noah Stilinski settles his hand over his eyes and takes a deep breath in as Stiles responds. “That’s a guess. An assumption. You want to know how I know? I’ll tell you. You didn’t read my file and you probably got your information from the lovely speech Susan on Channel 5 gave considering how close it is in composition.” The young man tilts his head at her. “Why would I  need  to talk to you?”

Her jaw seems even tighter now and she has to work it loose to answer him. “Stiles, after an event such as this where you have been taken from your comfort zone and hurt by people you don’t know you need  someone  to speak to about what happened.”

“I have someones. I have my dad. I have my friends. I have my significant others. Why would I need to talk to  you ? What could you, a stranger, give me that they can’t?” It would be easy for him to sound upset. To tone his voice to an angry level. It makes her so much angrier that he is calm as a cucumber. It makes her furious that he’s treating his therapy session like a practice session for a high school debate club.

“You need someone who can help you.” She offers spreading her hands wide in an open and ‘welcoming’ gesture that’s supposed to make him feel comfortable. “You need to talk to someone who  understands what you’ve been through.”

That makes him angry. She wouldn’t understand a dog needing to go outside if it was sitting at the door whining. He takes a deep breath and tilts his head at her. “Would you care to do an experiment with me? I’ll ask you some questions and all you have to do is answer  yes or  no . How does that sound?”

Her brows furrow and her eyes fly to his father who actually seems angry on Stiles’ behalf at this point. Looking back to the younger man she props one hand over the other atop her desk. “By all means.”

“Have you ever been kidnapped?” He questions with ease raising his brows at her in wait for and answer. 

“No.” She answers dutifully. 

He nods. “I see, I see. And have you ever been held somewhere against your will? For any reason?”

“No.” She grits out. 

“So it’s safe to say that you have never killed anyone in order to escape somewhere. Is that correct?” Stiles levels her with his most bored look. His dad stiffens next to him. 

Her entire posture stiffens and her eyes go significantly wider. “I- Yes. Yes that is correct.”

“Yes or no answers only.” He reminds her. “Have you ever been stabbed? Have you ever stabbed anyone?”

She swallows. “No to both.”

“Have you ever been beaten? Electrocuted? Had your bones purposely broken?” He questions with rapid fire speed purposefully keeping his eyes on her and not letting them stray to his dad who he knows is holding back tears. 

“N- no. No I can’t say that I have.” The raven haired woman stutters out her hands tightly grasped together. 

“Here’s and easy one. Have you ever been forced to eat  dog food  just to survive and not starve to death?” He asks and she shakes her head unable to speak. “So, How is it that you can possibly understand what I’ve gone through? Hm?”

“I can’t.” She admits her voice quiet and subdued. 

“You can’t.” Stiles reiterates and takes a deep breath. “So here is what you are going to do. You are going to report that I’m coming to these meetings and doing exceptionally well for what I’ve been through to Mister Whittemore. And then you and I will never set foot in this room together  ever  again, am I clear?”

“Crystal.” She croaks and her eyes follow him as he stands and makes his way out of the room with his father hot on his heels. 

He spends several long minutes in the parking lot with his arm wrapped around his father and a soothing hand rubbing along the older man’s back as the man sobs quietly into his shoulder clutching Stiles to his chest. “It’s okay dad. I’m home now. I’m safe and I’m alright.”

“I love you, Mica.” Noah says into his shoulder once his crying tapers off. 

“I know. I love you too, dad.” Stiles murmurs into the man’s neck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn’t find this through tumblr there is a Moodboard for this story [here](https://spoon-zi.tumblr.com/post/188576857932/stetopher-week-102519).
> 
> I’m also running Stargent (Stiles/Chris) week this year and you can find the print list [here](https://spoon-zi.tumblr.com/post/188822936492/stargent-week-2019).

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis


End file.
